Popular Post TQuintA Posted May 1, 2023 Popular Post Share Posted May 1, 2023 It happened while I was right in the middle of crossing the street. I was walking home from work, exactly halfway across the intersection when I felt it. At the time, I didn’t know what I was experiencing, but it felt like a fist had punched me in my heart while a snake wrapped around my lungs and a baseball bat slammed into my solar plexus. The pain was only momentary, but it was intense and unforgettable. I was a healthy man in my early 30s. I had never experienced sensations like this. I was worried I was having a heart attack or a stroke, or some strange cancer whose effects had snuck up on me all at once. Since the pain was gone as soon as I felt it, I finished crossing the street, and then leaned against a tree to stop and collect myself. Few, if any, of the other pedestrians marked me, and the cars kept whizzing by, no longer stymied by the red light. I was no longer in any pain. I was only five blocks from home. My husband Perry would likely be home. He is a heart surgeon, but he usually doesn’t work on Thursdays, so it would be a strong possibility he would be home. He would know what to do. Besides, it was probably all in my head. It was so quick that maybe I hadn’t felt anything—I’d just imagined it. My friends liked to tease me that I only married a surgeon because I'm a hypochondriac. They also had no idea how “a five like me had bagged a ten like him,” to quote my cattiest, bitchiest friend. True, I’m not much to look at. I’m just 5’9”, a sort of non-descript height, neither tall nor short. My face is also rather plain. Mud-brown eyes, mud-brown hair that I keep short-cropped, a nose that’s slightly too big for my face. I’m fit because I walk everywhere (two miles to work both ways), but my body isn’t particularly athletic. My dick is an average 6 inches. I have scattered body hair and a crooked smile. Nothing to look at. It’s also true that I come from a working class family and have a mid-level office job—it’s not like Perry married me for my money. It’s also true that I have no obvious demonstrable skills to land me a man: I have two left feet, I can barely draw stick figures, and I have a tin ear. Perry, meanwhile, is a dreamboat. He has naturally blond, thick wavy hair. His beard is always immaculately manicured. He’s 6’4” with a lithe, muscular body, just thick enough that his pecs and biceps visibly stretch his clothes. He also has a thick 8-inch dick, sings like an angel, and won multiple swing dance competitions as an undergrad. If this wasn’t enough, he came from money and has a surgeon’s income. My friends know that I’m kind, compassionate, and thoughtful. They see how much I make Perry laugh and how frequently he likes to kiss me, and they acknowledge we’re intellectual equals. Our marriage isn’t a complete mystery to them, just mostly a mystery. What they don’t know is my knack for sexual role play. I can spin a fantasy that will have Perry hard and leaking before I even touch him. Before me, all of Perry’s boyfriends had been sexually unadventurous pretty boys like him. Pretty boys often don’t have to try during sex—but us normies do. If I flatter myself, all my sexual panache did was get me a second date. My personality “bagged him.” As I laughed at myself for overreacting to one millisecond of pain, I calmed myself with the knowledge that Perry would know what to do. Reassured that I had a plan, I resumed my walk back home. It wasn’t two steps away from my resting tree that I realized things were different. My clothes were sitting on me wrong, pulling at me in odd and uncomfortable ways. When I looked down, I could see that more of my socks were showing than normal, and as I stared, a swath of shin appeared too. My sleeves also appeared to be rolling up a little bit, and the hem at the bottom of the shirt was trying to fight its way from behind my belt. My shoes also felt tighter. A few more steps later, I walked into a low-hanging tree branch. I walked this way 10 times a week: I knew this tree branch. It was low-hanging, sure, but it was only a hazard to me if I had an umbrella. On a day like today when the sun was shining warmly, the branch would pass over my head unaffected. The only explanation that made sense of everything was that I was getting taller. I looked around me, and, sure enough, it was plain as day that I was getting taller. The handful of people around me on the sidewalk seemed to be getting shorter, my strides were getting longer, each step was increasingly painful as my shoes grew tighter, and the tree branches were becoming more of obstacles. I felt a pleasant breeze tickle my stomach. My shirt had finally escaped my pants, and a large peek of my flat abs were on display. Similarly, a large flash of my shins was clearly visible. I slowed down as my impossibly tight shoes hobbled my progress. I stretched my feet one by one in hopes of relieving some of the pressure. It worked, after a fashion. My toes burst through the front of my shoes. Again, any pain I felt from this was only momentary. Since I was squarely in the residential district by this point, there were fewer pedestrians out and about. The few there were all had looks of astonishment as they stared at me. They could tell I had gotten taller. One middle aged man (a neighbor named Jack) had even taken out his phone and was filming me, which encouraged me to get home faster. At the same time my shoes gave up, I stopped growing taller. It was a good thing too, as my clothes were overburdened and threatening to join my shoes. And I still had three blocks left to walk. None of this made any sense. Perry would know what to do. Suddenly, a new sensation seized me, and it too slowed me down. I felt heavier. I don’t have other words for this. My body didn’t look particularly different, but I felt significantly heavier, and growing heavier by the second. I rubbed my stomach, and suddenly I could tell why I was heavier. My muscles, while they hadn’t gotten any bigger, were all getting denser, harder, and—yes—heavier. I could feel the strength coursing through me, trying to keep up with my staggering weight increase. I didn't have the mental capacity to try to understand this anymore; I was now just accepting my reality. It was a matter of fact that I had gotten taller; I was now just as inexplicably getting heavier. Just when I thought I could get no heavier, my clothes felt tighter again. Jack had started following me, keeping time with my ever-changing pace, and I could see a lascivious leer light up his face. I didn’t need to look down to know why he was staring. My muscles had started to swell larger. I pressed my hands into my abs. Not only did I now have a blossoming 6-pack, but I could tell my hands were bigger, and I could also feel that the density and hardness I’d recently developed was keeping up with the swelling musculature. In other words, my muscles were even harder, denser, and heavier, and only blowing up larger. My shirt was uncomfortably tight as my chest bloomed outwards. I was having a little trouble breathing until the top three buttons all gave way at once. It was then that I realized my neck had also been thickening. I reached up to feel just how thick it was, when I heard a tearing sound. My biceps, flexing as I reached towards my throat, rent both sleeves simultaneously. I looked over to Jack only to find that a small cadre of college-aged boys had joined him, staring at me, most with their own phones out as well. I realized I had to get home before I became even more of a spectacle. Perry would know what to do. I tried to pick up my pace, but that was easier said than done. My thighs had thickened into mighty columns of muscle, thicker than my waist. My growing weight didn’t help matters either. I had to throw my legs around each other in an awkward waddle, a walking method not conducive to speed. In my rush, and unaccustomed to this growing body, I tripped over my own mass and fell face-first into the sidewalk. My fans across the street cried out in shock, worried I’d hurt myself. Of course, by this point my chest had thickened so incredibly big that it took the full brunt of the impact—my face never made contact with the cement. However, I am pretty sure I cracked the concrete. I can’t say for certain there wasn’t a crack before I landed, but then I stood up, my pants shredding off my large, growing, flexing ass). I examined where I had just landed: there was a crack in the pavement, something like an impact crater. It took me a while to regain my balance. My shoulders were freakishly wide and capped with dense, thick muscle that were infiltrating my peripheral vision. My gigantic pec shelf and the overhanging ridge of my ass cantilevered out at odd angles. My biceps fought for space against my widening lats. My continually expanding quads made my stance need frequent readjustment. But, when I did regain my balance, my fans cheered. Slowly, deliberately, I continued my trek home. My shoes burst from my feet. My shirt, belt, and pants followed soon after. The few last vestiges of my clothes that clung to me were in tatters around me. Most of my torso—including my gigantic, round, pert, and still-growing pecs— and legs were completely exposed to my fans. I was pleased that my boxers were miraculously still holding on. Then I felt a new sensation. My cock and balls were feeling heavier. They were starting to grow too. My fans must have realized it at the same time I did, for the one or two who hadn’t been filming me pulled out their phones to film my newest bout of growth. By this point, my pecs were such gigantic protuberances that I couldn’t look past them to my growing crotch bulge without risking toppling over again. I could, however, both hear and feel the growth. I heard if when my boxers snapped clean off me, leaving me stark naked. I felt it when my mighty ass, gigantic balls, and free-swinging cock bounded free, gently caressed by the spring breeze. My balls were down to the tops of my thighs, still surging larger. Blessedly, I was finally in front of my house. However, I knew I was far too wide and thick to fit through the front door. Hell, I was so heavy by this point, I’d likely demolish the front porch just by stepping on it. From the shed out back, I heard grunting and loud, heavy clinking sounds. Perry was working out in his personal gym. When we bought this house, there had been a mowing shed in the backyard, but Perry had converted it into his personal gym. Because the previous owners had owned a riding mower, the door to the shed opened like a garage door: it was a wall that slid up. My fans followed me as I toddled and waddled around the side of the house to shed out back. I did my best to pull up the door, but unfamiliar with my new strength, I ended up just tearing it off the shed. That act of wanton destruction caused my fans to disperse. Inside his now three-walled shed, Perry was in his workout clothes, his face red from exertion, all his hair slick with sweat. He paused mid-curl and stared at me. I felt my muscles continuing to enlarge, my cock continuing to lengthen, and my balls continuing to swell. At that moment, my balls reached past my knees, the cock large enough and thick enough to match it. My muscles were now so big as to have surpassed inhumanly large a hundred pounds ago. When Perry saw me, he looked instantly aroused. But not surprised. “Hello, Dirk,” he said to me sweetly. “Has it finished yet?” “Has what finished?” I asked. We were both impressed at how low, resonant, and sexy my voice had become. “The body hair hasn’t grown in yet, so I don’t think so,” he said, ignoring my question. As if he had invoked it, my face, chest, and abs erupted in a thick carpet of hair. Lush and luxurious, so thick you could grab it by the fistful, I was now a furry, hairy fuck. Soon on top of that, I felt what I could only describe as my skin shrinking—my muscles now showed more definition, veins forced their way to the surface. “You are so hot,” Perry said, nearly drooling. “What’s going on?” I thundered. “No, seriously,” Perry said. He put down his weight and pointed over to the floor-length mirror. I hadn’t felt any of the changes to my face, but it had clearly changed. I was model handsome with a sleek new nose, intense cheekbones, a prominent jaw, and a thick but maintained beard. My hair was no longer mud-brown; it was charcoal black. My eyes were no longer mud-brown; they were amber. As I looked in the mirror, I surveyed the rest of the changes. My chest was giant, prodigious—two hairy globes of muscle hanging gravity-defyingly above a taut, tiny waist of cobbled six-pack and cum gutters. My thighs were cabled, veiny, striated columns of thick brawn. My arms were so thick as to dwarf Perry’s thick, muscular legs—pushed out even further by sinewy deltoids and wide, cobra-like lats. My ass was so intensely large and muscular it was visible from the front. My cock was as thick as Perry’s forearm and hung down to my knees, soft. My balls were the size of basketballs in a sac that hanging even lower. As I stood there, absorbing my breathtaking glory, my cock hardened, growing larger, thicker, huger, more rigid and veiny, and the slight breeze in the air stroked it, stimulating it beautifully. Perry’s phone chirped. “That’ll be Jack sending me the film he took.” “What the fuck, Perry?” I asked. “Well, Dirk,” he responded, “if you recall, there was that very complicated heart surgery I performed last month. It was sixteen hours long, and the patient was touch-and-go the whole time. But, she pulled through and made a full recovery. In record time, mind you. It was like magic. She should've been recuperating, nearly bedridden, for months. But, she came to my office yesterday. She offered to have sex with me as thanks. When I explained she was still recovering and should take it easy, she told me she'd jogged almost ten miles to my office. When I explained it was inappropriate for a doctor to have sex with their patients, she insisted we have sex anyways, as I technically no longer was her doctor. When I explained I was happily married to a man, she then offered to make a sexual fantasy come true.” “What?” “Turns out, fae folk have very similar cardiovascular systems to humans. And, among her people, a debt cannot be repaid with money alone. She proved her fae powers to me, but, when she uses them on humans, they are limited to sexual magic. She asked what fantasy of mine she could fulfill to repay her debt.” Perry paused meaningfully. Everything that had just happened did seem magic, so I accepted it. If Perry was convinced, that was enough for me. “A sexual fantasy of mine that I wanted to come true? That was tempting. I told her I’m already married to the man of my dreams, but what if he had the body of my dreams? So, I showed her our first role play. From our first date.” I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing thickly. “That was so long ago,” I said. “You don’t remember the details, then?” he asked. “I don’t remember the broad strokes,” I admitted. “What are the details?” “You created such a world, Dirk. You should just reread it.” “The gist?” I implored. Perry suggestively raised and lowered his eyebrows. “You’re now 6’9”. Ninety inch chest, forty-two inch thighs, thirty-six inch biceps, forty-inch waist. Your muscles are also five times denser than a normal man’s, so you probably weigh over 1,000 pounds and are five times stronger than you look. And you look stronger than the Hulk. Also, it’s now ten times easier for you to gain muscle than a normal man, supplements and PEDs are three times more effective. You barely need to do anything to maintain this masculine edifice. I could keep going.” By this point, my dick was hard as a girder and leaking a river of pre. “What about this?” I said, pointing to my gargantuan erection. “30 inches soft, 48 inches hard. Super sensitive with twice as many nerve endings. A super-shooter. And the amount of testosterone you produce.” Perry whistled, impressed. “So, I’m never gonna top again,” I said pointedly. “We both prefer it when I top,” Perry said. “But our role play gave me five triggers. Five sentences I could say to temporarily alter your body.” “Meaning what?” I asked. “Ride ‘em cowboy,” Perry said. As soon as he finished speaking, my dick somehow got harder. Oddly, as it hardened, it got smaller and smaller until it was only 9 inches and proportionately thick. However, it was diamond hard, blazingly hot, and just as sensitive as it had been. I could see my heartbeat as my cock pulsed in sync. “In the role play, you called it an atomic erection. The same number of nerve endings, the same amount of blood. So, that tool,” he pointed, “is exponentially harder than its four foot counterpart, but just as sensitive, and conveniently fits it my mouth, hands, or ass.” It was painfully hard. But the pain was somehow pleasant. “What’s the trigger to make it go back to its four-foot size?” “No trigger. You just have to come.” “My body’s impossibly huge,” I said, trying to reach my dick, but failing because my biceps and pecs continuously collided into each other. “Clark Kent,” Perry said. And as soon as it was uttered, my body compacted into itself. My height and body hair remained what they were, but my musculature condensed. I looked like an impossibly ripped 320-pound bodybuilder with something like 2% body fat, but I could tell I had lost no strength or weight—I had just become even denser. But I was small and nimble enough to reach my aching cock. My balls had also condensed. They were still tantalizingly large and absurdly heavy, but I could fit one in the palm of my hand. I began stroking my cock, delighting in the lightning fire of delight emanating from my ministrations. Perry said, “Your soft cock would be appropriately scaled down, too. With your body this way, you can still go to work, hang out with friends, and seemingly live a normal life. But I wouldn’t go swimming at that density, unless the water’s shallow. I bet you can guess what trigger will turn you back.” “You’re not going to trick me into saying it,” I said, blissing out on my masturbation. “At least, not until I climax.” “Say it all you want. Wouldn’t accomplish anything,” Perry said. “The role play gives me and me alone control.” “The other two triggers?” I asked. “One makes you go into a mindless rut for a full day and night. The other makes you obsessed with putting on another 50 pounds of muscle mass. The scenario you wrote has you start at this size with potential to grow so much bigger. As long as we have access to heavy enough weights, like construction equipment and commercial airplanes.” I took in everything he was saying, but I masturbated more frenetically as he spoke. I could feel an orgasm inch closer, but I couldn’t cross the threshold. “Jerk off all you want,” Perry teased. “While your dick’s this small,” he said of my nine-inch monstrosity, “only I can get you off.” I stopped masturbating, and locked eyes with Parry. I was panting heavily, my thick, hairy chest rising and falling. “I know what to do,” Perry said. “We should both play hooky from work tomorrow, and we spend the next 24 hours in a mindless rut. What do you say?” I nodded, my eyes practically begging him to say it. With a smirk, Perry said, “Heigh-ho, Silver.” 58 6 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pumped Posted May 1, 2023 Share Posted May 1, 2023 TQuintA Excellent read! A perfect mix of fun and fantasy. No matter what style you write in or form you take, one off or series, you always make your readers wanting more! 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
actorsarecool Posted May 1, 2023 Share Posted May 1, 2023 @TQuintA you’ve done it again! It’s an absolute pleasure reading anything you create, and this was no different. I like this short one-off style! If only we could really be Dirk! Great job as usual! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
citizenies Posted May 2, 2023 Share Posted May 2, 2023 Amazingly hot ~ thanks for making this 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted May 2, 2023 Share Posted May 2, 2023 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted May 2, 2023 Share Posted May 2, 2023 @TQuintA Another story! Oh joy! And funny! "Heigh ho, Silver!" Away! Thank you for a very fun read! Not to mention the amazing muscle descriptions! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jwood Posted May 4, 2023 Share Posted May 4, 2023 It seems things would get a bit interesting if they sang "Elvira" during karaoke night 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
BeheMorph Posted May 6, 2023 Share Posted May 6, 2023 Awesome as usual! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted May 8, 2023 Author Share Posted May 8, 2023 Whenever I finish a story on this site, I like to give some bonus behind the scenes material. This gets self-indulgently personal, so feel free to skip to the last paragraph (or just the bolded bit) if you’re not in the mood for that kind of content. Ever since I’ve started doing some typing as part of my physical therapy for Arnold (my brain tumor), I’ve built up significant progress. I currently do about two to three hours of typing a day; my livelihood and quality of life depend on my ability to type, so I am taking it eminently seriously. I used to be a demon at typing. People (friends, family, co-workers, even students) used to comment that I was inhumanly fast. While typing, I also made comparatively few errors for the speed I typed (in part because my thoughts include punctuation). I regularly made mistakes, obviously—I am human, after all. But, I didn’t have to sacrifice speed for accuracy. Hell, I could hold a conversation while typing an unrelated document (that parlor trick used to scare people). I say this not to boast but to provide context for why I was so scared in my last comment under my “Hello” post—I went from that level of dexterity to being unable to hold a spoon tightly or for very long. I was terrified I would never type again I had so little control over my hands. As I’ve practiced typing, there have been some casualties along the way. At first, my typing was so ungainly that I literally broke the keyboard on my laptop and now use an old plug-and-play keyboard my brother had in his basement. Even with hiccups like that along the way, the practicing has paid off; I’m almost back up to full speed. I’m not there yet, and I make a frustratingly large number of mistakes that I have to go back and fix. At the same time, I acknowledge that, considering where I started pre-Arnold, “slightly below normal speed” for me is fast by most people’s standards. Considering the difficulty I had with my hands as recently as February, I want to use the adjective “miraculous” to describe my progress. In fact, because of the amount of time I dedicated daily to typing, I finished the first draft of a full-length play in April. Since that project went swimmingly, I decided to work on a story for this website from an idea I had pre-Arnold. I’m currently 21 pages into that project (the working title is “Going Niche”). However, from my prewriting, I suspect that project is likely to end up being comparable in length to Weird, But Sweet or even Hey, Big Guy. I hope to start treatment for Arnold in June (I haven’t even started treatment yet; you read that right), and my neurologist warned me that any progress I’ve made could be lost nearly instantaneously if Arnold decides to have a growth spurt. For those reasons, I’m scared I’ll never finish the story I’m currently working on. I definitely won’t finish it by June 5th, the date of my next MRI. With all of this in mind, I decided to set a challenge for myself like I often do on this website. I took my normal three hours of typing practice one day and wrote a brand new story, swearing to publish it after three hours, even if it was unfinished. To keep myself honest, I set an alarm on my phone. I gave myself a half hour for prewriting (I am still the Monarch of Prewriting), half an hour for editing, and two hours for writing. That story ended up being “His Dream Come True.” Unfortunately, my plan didn’t go as smoothly as I wanted it to. The plot was too ambitious for this challenge, and I ended up with only 10 minutes to edit. So, the version I posted was rough by my standards. Yes, because these were self-imposed rules, I could've taken more time to edit. The time limit was imaginary. However, the whole point was to challenge myself, and it’s not much of a challenge if I change the rules for my convenience. So, I published it in its rough state. I’m glad this story got a positive response. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised it did. I don’t say this to fish for compliments. Just the opposite, in fact. I am floored, flabbergasted, and flattered at the love this story got. It was a bright light in a dark time for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you all. I also don’t say any of this to brag. I hear how much of what I’ve shared in this post can come across as bragging. I apologize for that. It wasn’t my goal; it was merely inevitable to communicate what I wanted to communicate. Additionally, I know I’m being unfairly harsh on a story I cranked out that fast. The story’s decent. I’m not ashamed of it. I just know it could have been better. In fact, as soon as I’ve posted this, I plan on giving the story a once-over. I am making no major structural changes, though. There are a lot of details from my prewriting that did not make it into the final draft because of the time limit: a more thorough description of Dirk’s midsection, the payoff for the “crooked smile,” how the fae proved her powers to Perry, more appeals to the senses, a longer description of what Perry looked like in his workout clothes. I’m consigning all of these details to the fire: I couldn’t write them in the time allotted, so they’re gone. But, because I want this story to be as polished as possible, I’m allowing myself to edit for grammar, clarity, continuity, and style—because I respect my readers and have a sense of professional pride. Again thank you, thank you, thank you all. 18 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted May 8, 2023 Share Posted May 8, 2023 Never apologize for sharing your story, sweetheart, the triumphs as well as the stumbles. If anything, your recounting tends to downplay your utter fabulosity! I wasn't aware that "His Dream Came True" had any shortcomings and as people here will tell you I am nitpicky to the point of pedantry! Please remember that anything and everything you share with us is a gift beyond compare. Sending positive vibes for healing, skillful healthcare providers, and good medical outcomes. XOXO Richard 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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